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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29725428">Lost In The Supermarket</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrycola94/pseuds/cherrycola94'>cherrycola94</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Young Justice (Comics), Young Justice - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, they're so soft i'm crying</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 19:29:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,263</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29725428</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrycola94/pseuds/cherrycola94</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“You look tired,” Tim says, looping his arm through Kon’s.</p><p>Kon closes his eyes and lets out a sigh. “I kinda am,”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tim Drake &amp; Kon-El | Conner Kent, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>121</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Lost In The Supermarket</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/dunneltag879/gifts">dunneltag879</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>@ the best person in the world (friend who i am writing this for.)</p><p>this is based off of that one song by the clash after we talked about it at 1AM,,,, because i really love the clash.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When the automatic doors slide open a rush of cool, dry air blasts Tim and Kon in the face.</p><p> </p><p>It’s 12:46 AM. The countless aisles stand in silent face-offs of perfect symmetry. The entire store is empty-- save for boxes of merchandise littering the floor and five uniformed workers (all dressed in khakis and blue shirts) lazily stocking the shelves with help from shaky metal ladders. The lights in this particular store are a little too bright, the hum of the freezers are soothing, and the lack of clocks makes this market feel like a sort of twilight safezone. A storm eye of calm in people’s messy lives.</p><p> </p><p>They walk to the wall of milk. Cartons and jugs are neatly arranged in pristine rectangles and cold wind rushes out when Tim opens the door.</p><p> </p><p>“What kinda milk do we drink again?” Kon asks him through a half-yawn.</p><p> </p><p>“Whole,” Tim yawns himself and guides Kon’s hand from the line of purple labels to the red ones.</p><p> </p><p>“What brand?”</p><p> </p><p>“Any,” Tim waves an arm at the milks, the empty basket looped through his arm bounces off of his hip. He winces a little-- he’s sore from fighting villains all week long.</p><p> </p><p>Kon stares at the large selection for a good while and finally decides to place a carton from the Smallville Dairy brand into the dark green basket. Tim’s arm sags with the weight of the carton and his general exhaustion, but he doesn’t complain about it.</p><p> </p><p>Kon stands before him for a moment and squishes a hand on top of Tim’s head. It’s a little odd and it means nothing, but the gesture warms Tim from his face down to the tips of his toes. Kon lets go and looks away at the rest of the store.</p><p> </p><p>“What else?” He rubs his eyes in a pinching motion with the tips of his fingers. Tim notices how well the sunglasses hanging off the collar of his tee reflect the fluorescent tubes hanging above them.</p><p> </p><p>“Produce,” Tim replies quietly. They both turn their heads in zombie-like unison down to the other end of the store.</p><p> </p><p>The vegetables over there are being covered in a fine layer of mist by the sprinklers hanging above them. By some unspoken agreement they stand there. Watching the water spritz down onto the vegetables until it stops, before looking for the nicest bunches of cilantro and the greenest florets of broccoli. They fill the basket up all the way but they’re not done shopping yet.</p><p> </p><p>“Be right back,” Kon mumbles and presses a kiss against Tim’s forehead. So Tim stands by the carrots and the cucumbers and waits for the return of <strike>the king</strike> Kon.</p><p> </p><p>“This’ll be easier,” Kon is pushing a cart that squeaks loudly on its wheels toward Tim. Tim nods, wondering why they didn’t pick a cart in the first place. They arrange their stuff on the cart and Tim tosses the basket over the items.</p><p> </p><p>Kon stares intensely at a particular bunch of cauliflower.</p><p> </p><p>“Snacks,” He decides loudly. So with that command, they shuffle over to the snack aisle to look at the biscuits and chips on display. </p><p> </p><p>“You look tired,” Tim says, looping his arm through Kon’s. He scans the shelves for the Samoa cookies Bart devoured whenever he came over to their place.</p><p> </p><p>Kon closes his eyes and lets out a sigh. “I kinda am,”</p><p> </p><p>“Well then let’s get outta here,” Tim takes two random boxes of flavored Oreos off their shelves and pulls the bright blue cart to the self-checkout station. He leans against the cart as Kon pulls things out to scan.</p><p> </p><p>And it turns out that Kon can’t scan anything properly. Every time he tries to run an item over the red light, the machine beeps aggressively at him. He moves too slowly, or he moves too quickly and Tim can see his blood pressure rising.</p><p> </p><p>“You wanna play it that way?” Kon rolls up the long sleeves of his blue sweater. He’s tired, so he's a much quicker to annoy.</p><p> </p><p>“Kon,” Tim rests a hand on the clone’s forearm. It seems to calm him down a bit. <em> “Slowly.” </em> Tim demonstrates with a carton of Smallville Milk.</p><p> </p><p>“I knew that,” Kon mutters as the two of them scan the rest of the items and bag them. Tim whips out his card and punches in the numbers while Kon puts everything back into the cart.</p><p> </p><p>Outside, is brightly lit by street lamps, apartment lights, and the moon. Kon loads the groceries into the trunk of his convertible and Tim sits in the front seat</p><p> </p><p>“At least the car doesn’t beep at me,” Kon pats the dashboard affectionately and pulls the car out onto the road. Tim turns the knob of the radio through the channels, but nothing good plays at this time so he turns it off and starts humming <em> Charlie Don’t Surf</em><em>.</em> Kon joins in, rhythmically drumming the bassline’s tune on the steering wheel with his fingertips. Every light on the way back home is green, something rare in downtown Metropolis.</p><p> </p><p>“I got it,” Kon waves to the trunk when they park in the garage. He carries all the items with ease, balancing them perfectly (probably using his tactile telekinesis) as Tim walks beside him.</p><p> </p><p>The elevator appears immediately with the push of the UP button. The ride is quiet, Tim’s arms are crossed and he leans against one of the mirrors while Kon stares at the LED panel ticking away the floor numbers. When they reach their floor, Tim fishes his Superboy keychain out of his pocket and unlocks the door for Kon.</p><p> </p><p>“I could’ve done that myself,” Kon says as he kicks off his shoes.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Tim pats his shoulder before walking inside. “Sure.”</p><p> </p><p>Together, they stock the perishable items into the fridge and leave the rest in a line on the kitchen counter to finish putting away tomorrow.</p><p> </p><p>Tim brushes his teeth as Kon changes into a comfortable pair of sweatpants and tee in the closet. Then like all nights before, they switch places.</p><p> </p><p>Tim carefully arranges his laptop and tablet in an easy display on his side of the bed and opens up the files Bruce sent to him over their encrypted channel. Two minutes later, Kon lands face-first on a pillow with a loud sigh. It knocks over the setup.</p><p> </p><p>“You good?” Tim runs a gentle hand through Kon’s hair and props his devices back up with the other.</p><p> </p><p>“Tired,” Kon says, his voice muffled.</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” Tim says absently.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t type anything,” Kon whines at the <em> clackclackclack </em> of Tim’s keyboard.</p><p> </p><p>“I need to,” Tim starts thinking harder, so his hand leaves Kon’s head to type up his analysis. The bloody noses and broken bones in the crime scene photos weren’t exactly the nice pre-bedtime content Tim would like to look at, but a superhero never stopped working.</p><p> </p><p>“Noooooooo,” Kon grabs at the air, probably trying to find Tim’s hand. “Babe, you’re <em> always </em>working.”</p><p> </p><p>“Y’know what?” Tim clicks save on his program and shuts the laptop. “Fine.”</p><p> </p><p>This file <em> could </em> wait. Technically. He could just wake up early tomorrow and finish it for Bruce.</p><p> </p><p>“Really?” Kon shifts so he’s lying on his stomach.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Tim brushes Kon’s hair back out of his eyes, a small smile gracing his features. Kon smiles sleepily at him.</p><p> </p><p>“C’mere,” He reaches out to Tim and pulls him down under the thick blankets. Tim settles into him, his back resting against Kon’s chest.</p><p> </p><p>“‘Night,” Tim whispers.</p><p> </p><p>“G’night,” Kon mumbles into his hair. And after a few seconds;</p><p> </p><p>“I love you, Tim.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is a little boring but yeah i hope you liked it bro B)) </p><p>(you kids don’t even know how many times i had to google whether or not they have tescos in the US ashgdjh)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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